Our Baptismal Vows

I vividly remember a critical moment in our confirmation class when I served a medium-sized United Methodist Church out in Ridgecrest.  As in the Episcopal Church, confirmation is that ritual wherein one claims for oneself the baptismal vows they made, or were made on their behalf if they were infants

I had arrived a little late and Kay our secretary had already let the class of about 8 into my office.  I made my apology for being a few minutes late and moved to get the class going.  “Alright, guys, lets get our books out and get started,” I urged.  At this point one of the girls corrected me, “Hey, we’re not all guys.”  At that point, the wise guy in the room blurted out, “Well, you’re sure flat enough.”

Instant thermonuclear explosion.  Alicia jumped up in tears and stormed out of the room.  I rushed out after her as she ran into the arms of Pete, our associate pastor, who just happened to be coming to my office to drop something off.  I asked him to deal with distraught Alicia while I went back to the class.

Absolute quiet.  The silence was an acknowledgement that a social rule had been violated to devastating effect.

I realized that the lesson for that day was out the window.  Instead, I told them we were going to talk about community, what makes it and what rips it apart.  I asked them to share what they were feeling at the moment.  Of course, all comments were directed to the boy, Warren.

When they had had a while to share their thoughts and feelings, I asked them, what would it take to restore community of our class.  Sheepishly, Warren quietly mumbled, “I guess I have to say I’m sorry.”  At which point the entire class as a chorus erupted, “Yeah, Warren!”

Later that day, Warren did in fact apologize and the next week the class was able to resume according to schedule.  As devastating as that incident was, in a strange way working through it as a group, we developed a much closer bond.  And no one will ever forget that lesson of sin, repentance, making amends and grace.

I could have never devised such a powerful and lasting lesson on my own.

After confirmation, a good number of the kids drifted away from the church.  For them and their families, confirmation was the end of the faith journey.  So, it is with many of our mainline churches.  Confirmation is the graduation ceremony right out the back door.

We might see them again at a few significant moments, the baptism of a child, marriage or when six strong men have carried them through the door at the end of their journey.  As one wit put it, the church is significant if at all on three occasions: hatched, matched and dispatched.

If we look at Jesus baptism and commissioning, it is not a culmination, but a beginning.

Personally, I compare it to my induction into the U.S. Army.  I had registered as a conscientious objector willing to go into the medics.  I wasn’t willing to shoot anyone over what I considered an illegal and immoral war but I was willing to patch up anyone who got shot or worse.

I remember reporting at the induction station in downtown Los Angeles early on a dreary, overcast morning.  My mood matched the weather.

A primary thing I learned about the Army would repeat itself throughout my two-year stint.  After the first minutes of going through that door it was hurry up and wait.  And wait.  And wait.

Finally, someone assembled us in a loose formation and we were herded off to a battery of tests. We were tested, inspected and injected.  And yelled at a whole lot as we went through this process.

Finally, in groups we were lined up before a white line on the floor.  We were given the oath to “protect and defend the Constitution of the United States, so help me God.”  One step over that white line and we belonged to Uncle Sam for the next two years.

Flawed as it is, our Constitution is the covenant that unites us together.  The defense of it is what each of us, in our own specialty would be doing.  I was trained as an electroencephalograph technician.  I stuck pins in peoples’ heads for the next two years.

The other lesson I learned, take care of the colonel and he’ll take care of you.  After my two years I was discharged as an E5, the equivalent of sergeant.

Likewise, we in our baptism are also commissioned.  We are called, through word and action to respect the dignity and worth of all persons.  How we each do that will vary over the course of our life’s journey.

From Matthew’s telling of Jesus’ baptism:

“And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him.  And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.’”

And for all who follow, God’s honest truth holds:  You are beloved, in you I am well pleased.  You are commissioned.  Go forth and be of good courage.

Bishop Mariann Budde lives out this commission in Washington, D.C. where she serves as the bishop of that diocese.  She has written a wonderful book; How We Learn to be Brave: Decisive Moments in Life and Faith.[1]  In it she explores what bravery means in light of our baptismal vow.  In part this pledge is: “to strive for justice and peace, and to respect the dignity of every human being.”

“The decisive moments in life are those pivot points when we’re called to push past our fears and act with strength.”[2]  And I would add, push past our lethargy.

Through several life choices, like the decision to leave friends and move across the country at the age of 17 when her family fell apart – to leave an alcoholic and clinically depressed father and a step-mother who resented her, Mariann had displayed moments of bravery. 

Bishop Budde had begun receiving phone calls about President Trump having assembled a group of top cabinet members and top military brass at Lafyette Park, across the street from the White House which then the whole entourage marched the short distance where Trump stood in front of St. John’s Episcopal church.  There he held up a Bible upside down for a photo op and mentioned what a great country this is. 

On CNN the Bishop was moved to say:

“Let me be clear: the president just used a Bible, the most sacred text of the Judeo-Christian tradition, and one of the churches in my diocese, without permission, as a backdrop for a message antithetical to the teachings of Jesus.  Everything he has said and done is to inflame violence.  We need moral leadership, and he’s done everything to divide us.”[3]

Her words, after the massive nation-wide protests over the George Floyd murder, captured the moment and spread throughout the airwaves.

Leading up to that point, the bishop’s essential work had been with clergy and congregations in her diocese.  Definitely not on the national stage.  But as phone calls flooded in after the incident, she arrived at that decisive moment where she knew she had to say something.  This is what bravery looks like.

Many new beginnings are fraught with the call for bravery, for leaving our comfort zone.  A new job can be quite a baptism into the unknown.

My friend Kep, having a Stanford masters degree in engineering, tells me of his first job with an oil company in Texas.  Before he knew it, he was in a small boat being tossed about by a choppy sea.  They were headed for an oil rig hundreds of miles out in the middle of the ocean.  Everyone was getting seasick and Kep was wondering what he had gotten himself into.

But even the terror of getting on that flimsy contraption to hoist them up some nine stories, swinging over open ocean water to the living quarters of that rig.  Even this was better than staying in that small boat retching over the rail feeding the fish.

Out of his comfort zone?  You bet!  A heart-in-his-throat moment for a city boy to be sure.  No small degree of bravery is involved in some new beginnings.  For Kep, a baptism by water, a lot of salt water.

I opened the paper on Friday to the headline: “Trump Asserts His Global Power Has One Limit: Himself.”  Further: “My own morality.  My own mind, It’s the only thing that stop me.”[4]  This from one who has all the impulse control of a two-year-old.

The royal pronouncement of Louis XIV: L’État, c’est moi (I am the state) was given to his parliament in the assertion of complete and absolute authority.  Well, Mr. Trump, we have no need of such royal rubbish.  The last time we had a king, we had to kill an awful lot of British soldiers to get rid of him, and we aren’t about to go back now to any such subjugation.  We’re not going back!

In his interview with the New York Times, Trump has abrogated the entire international order crafted following WWII.  Tossed it all aside.  It’s now Darwin’s rule, the law of the strongest.  The United Nations may as well as fold up shop if it’s okay for any powerful nation to gobble up a weaker neighbor.  A clear signal to Putin that Ukraine is up for grabs – along with any NATO country he might want — Lithuania or Latvia, or, maybe even, Poland.  Yours for the taking.

Such sentiments are a reckless dismissal of the constitutional order that has guided our nation, for good or ill, for over two hundred fifty years.  Lawless it is!  The day after November 3^rd must be Impeachment Day.

As our own Bishop Taylor urged in a recent Facebook post, we need all of us out in the streets on January 20 for the next No Kings Day.

 I know some brave souls who have confessed that this was something they never thought they’d do.  Be out in the streets with a sign protesting.

Their bravery is what our baptismal vows look like.  The forthright statements of our religious leaders – that is what our baptismal vows look like. 

Unfortunately, like some in my first confirmation class, too many Christians have come up from the baptismal waters stillborn.  A lot of to-do to no noticeable effect.

That’s why our church believes that baptism is a public event wherein the community of faith pledges over the long haul to nurture the baptized in a life of faith that is courageous.

When we step up, screw up our courage to stand for the right thing, it is contagious.  Our singular example gives others to follow the impulse to bravery, to join us.  Yes, it will take not only a village but an entire nation risen up to rid ourselves of this tyranny.  As someone said, they can’t kill us all.

As the nationally known gardener Paul Avellino asserts: “The point of standing together isn’t to change something overnight.  It’s to become the lighthouse that reminds others there’s still a way through the storm.[5]

Remember your baptism and be thankful.  Thankful for the most expansive journey opening up your days and years to come.  And through that door lies eternity.  Be thankful.  Amen.

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[1] Mariann Edgar Budde, How We Learn to Be Brave: Decisive Moments in Life and Faith (New York: Avery, 2023.

[2] Op cit., book jacket.

[3] Op cit., xviii.

[4] Katie Rogers, “Trump Asserts His Global Power Has One Limit: Himself,” New York Times, January 9, 2026.

[5] Paul Avellino, quoted in Bits and Pieces, January, 2025.

January 11, 2026

Epiphany 1
The Baptism of Our Lord

Isaiah 42:1-9; Psalm 29
Acts 10:34-43; Gospel: Matthew 3:13-17

“Our Baptismal Vows”